Body Double
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: Sandburg opens his office door and discovers someone has left him a very unpleasant gift…a dead body!


Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Thank you to Kathy, who left feedback on _Prime Imperative_!

 **Body Double**

By

EvergreenDreamweaver

"Thanks for the lift, Jim! I'll get a ride down to the precinct when I'm done – ought to be around four o'clock." Grad student, anthropology teacher and police observer Blair Sandburg slid down from the Ford pickup's passenger seat and reached back inside to grab his weighty backpack from the floor.

His roommate, best friend and partner, Detective Jim Ellison nodded from his place behind the wheel. "If you can't hitch a ride with somebody, call me, Chief. If you take the bus you'll barely get there before it's time to go home." The slightest bit of worry tinged the ice-blue gaze as Ellison surveyed the younger man. "You sure you're not too tired…? You have a hard schedule today?"

"Not as hard as usual, since you talked me into skipping early office hours this morning," Sandburg said cheerfully. "But I do have classes straight through until three, and then I'll need to go to my office for a little bit to catch up on my e-mail and phone messages, and change out books." He smiled, appreciating the concern. "I'm not too tired, Jim, really."

"We got home pretty late from the stakeout—" the detective persisted, unconvinced. It had become second nature to worry about his candle-burning-at-both-ends roommate.

"Jim – chill, man. I'm fine, really! But I do have to scram, like right now, or I'm gonna be late, and the class will walk out. Even for me, that ten-minute rule is sacred!" With another grin and a farewell wave, Sandburg slammed the pickup door and was off and running, loping across the green sward of Rainier University's campus, backpack slung over one shoulder, hustling to teach his first anthropology class of the day.

Ellison watched his departure for a moment, smiling a little; and then he shook himself free of the reverie, put the truck in gear, and headed for his job at Cascade Police's Major Crimes Division.

##########

"Mr. Sandburg! Mr. Sandburg!" The young, nearly-breathless voice behind him caught Blair's attention, and he turned, smiling as he waited for the two pursuing students to catch up.

"DeWayne…Lisa. I'll bet I know what you want – an early peek at midterm grades, right?" he teased.

"We thought they'd be posted—" DeWayne admitted. The big young man might have been blushing, but his dark skin didn't show it. Defying the traditional 'dumb jock' stigma, the football team's premier tight end was almost ferociously intelligent; Blair loved having him in his senior anthro class. He wondered sometimes if Simon Banks' son Daryl might be something like DeWayne Whitmore, in a few more years. With the genes inherited from Simon, Daryl could easily equal or top his 6'5" father. Of course his interests lay more on the basketball court than the football field, but the potential was there.

"We looked on the bulletin board—" Lisa Westby added. Standing next to DeWayne emphasized her petite stature; her blonde prettiness a dazzling contrast to his bulk.

Blair smiled ruefully. "They were supposed to be. They would have been, if I'd gotten to my early office hours this morning. But – I apologize; I didn't. I was up pretty late last night, on a stakeout with my friend Detective Ellison. He convinced me that a couple of extra hours of sleep was more important than posting midterm grades." He turned and once more started along the walk toward Hargrove Hall, beckoning the other two to follow. "If you come with me, you can check your grades, and I'll print out the list to post. I haven't even been in my office at all yet, today."

"Detective Ellison is that police officer you've been observing for so long, isn't it?" Lisa inquired, trotting alongside Blair. DeWayne dropped back a step or two, his longer stride enabling him to pace the others easily.

"Nearly three years," Sandburg nodded. "We share an apartment, as well. He was nice enough to offer to let me stay with him after my place blew up." His lips quirked in a reminiscent smile. It seemed like that warehouse explosion had happened to a different Blair Sandburg, in a much different life altogether.

Three years of living with, observing, working with, writing about…and _Guiding_ …a Sentinel. Blair continued to smile to himself. Sentinels….People with all five genetically enhanced senses, who in ancient times had served as tribal guardians. People who were merely legends and myths…until he'd found Jim Ellison. Their partnership was no longer really about the doctoral thesis, of course; it had gone further than that, almost from the beginning. But the public explanation of their association had to remain just that: Blair was writing a dissertation – ostensibly on closed societies, the police department – and Jim was part of that research.

"Blew up, man?" DeWayne demanded. "Just where were you livin', anyway?"

"In a warehouse…infested with rats the size of Yorkshire terriers," Sandburg shuddered eloquently. "Turns out there was a drug lab operating next door that I didn't know about." He turned up the sidewalk going into Hargrove. "Long story. Let's get those grades up!"

The main floor of the building was bustling with people; fewer and fewer were around as Blair and his two students descended the stairs into the basement, where Blair's office was located. Sandburg had kept up a stream of entertaining chatter as they walked, but the almost eerie silence in the basement corridor made him trail off.

"Quiet down here," DeWayne commented softly.

"Mmm-hmmm." Sandburg pulled his key ring from his pocket and inserted the proper one in the lock, beneath the etched glass window. He twisted the knob and pushed the door open; took one step into the room…and froze. DeWayne and Lisa, close behind him, collided with his back.

"Ooof! What's wrong—" Lisa began.

But DeWayne, with his greater height, peered over his teacher's shoulder and gasped. "Oh….My….God!"

Blair pushed solidly against them, stepping backwards. "Back. Out. Now." Once DeWayne and Lisa were away from the door, he moved back into the room, and bent over the motionless figure on the floor. He stretched out a hand, to check for signs of life, and recoiled at the feel of the cold flesh beneath his fingers. One touch was all it took; and one glance was all he needed to determine the corpse's identity. Standing up, Blair exited, pulled the door almost closed, and leaned against the corridor wall, his breathing rapid. He unzipped a pocket of his backpack and got out his cell phone.

"What is it?" Lisa demanded.

"There's somebody layin' on the floor," DeWayne informed her in a hushed voice. "With a dagger in his back!"

Blair Sandburg had worked with the police long enough to know the routine backwards and forwards. _Call it in, contain the crime scene…._ Despite his shock, he did everything right.

First, he called 911.

" _911, what is your emergency?"_

"This is Blair Sandburg, at Rainier University. I just opened my office door and found a dead body on the floor…."

And then he called campus security.

" _Security – Tamaki speaking."_

"Suzanne? It's Blair Sandburg. Get over to my office as quick as you can…."

He did his best to calm Lisa and DeWayne, who sat huddled together on the hall floor, trying to comfort each other.

"It'll be all right, guys….the police will get here soon. Everything will be okay…."

"Mr. Sandburg – do you know who it is?"

He sighed wearily. "I do, Lisa…it's Professor Jared Mentken. One of the teachers in the Archaeology department."

"A friend of yours? Oh man, I'm so sorry—" DeWayne's large hand settled on his instructor's shoulder in an instinctive attempt at support.

"Let's say, an acquaintance, rather than a friend," Blair told them. "I knew who he was on sight, talked to him a few times, but not much more than that."

And at last, by now shaking with reaction, he did what he'd desperately _wanted_ to do first.

"Ellison."

" _Jim? It's me….Do you have s-some free time right now, I hope?"_ Blair's voice cracked on the last few words, to his utter dismay.

Ellison's voice sharpened. "What's wrong?"

"I – it's – crap, I didn't mean to – it's—"

"Chief, take a deep breath and then just tell me."

" _Right…right. My office…when I opened the door to my office just now…Jim, there's a dead body lying in front of my desk…with one of my ceremonial daggers in his back!"_

"WHAT? Jesus, Chief!"

" _I called 911, but it will probably get shunted to Homicide—"_ The sound of Blair's harsh swallow came clearly through the receiver. _"But…if you c-could…if you have time. I…think I c-could use a – a—"_

 _I think I could use a friend…._ The words hung in the air, unspoken. Unnecessary.

"I'm on my way, Chief. Just hold on; I'll be there as quick as I can."

Ellison replaced the receiver, already grabbing his coat from the rack. He made one detour on his way to the door and stuck his head into Simon's office, after the briefest of taps. "Captain, I'm heading over to Rainier. Sandburg just called and said he found a DB in his office! He said he called it in, but I don't know where it'll end up, here or Homicide—" He exited without further speech, and rushed out the door of Major Crimes.

Captain Banks surged to his feet. "RHONDA! Get me Dispatch!"

##########

Jim had the lights and siren in use almost before he cleared the parking garage, and he blessed the fact that late-afternoon traffic hadn't yet reached its usual gummed-up state; he was able to navigate the route to Rainier with practiced ease, and made the trip in less than 15 minutes. Keeping an ear on the scanner, he heard a patrol car team announce its arrival at the university, and cudgeled his brain trying to remember who belonged to #26. Kister and – Hightower, wasn't it?

Arriving at the parking lot closest to Hargrove, Ellison pulled up in front of the main doors and leaped out, shutting down the siren along with the engine, but leaving his 'bubble' light flashing on the dash. A Cascade PD patrol car was parked nearby, as well as another vehicle with a light bar: Rainier's campus security. He jogged quickly up the steps and headed for the basement stairs, holding up his badge when various people attempted to detain him. As he descended, he extended his hearing…and didn't like what he heard.

"You knew the victim, then, Mr. Sandburg?" The demanding voice would have been clear even without enhanced hearing. "Had something against him, did you?"

"No, I had nothing against him!" Blair sounded shaken. "I knew who he was, that's all. Someone to say 'hello' to in the hall, or at a meeting."

"Then why was he in your office?"

"I don't know! Man, I haven't been there all day myself, until just now!"

Jim rounded a corner and focused in on the knot of people in front of his partner's office doorway. Yellow crime scene tape was strung across the portal, but the uniformed officers were staying out of the room and keeping everyone else out, too. A tall, well-built young black man and a petite blonde girl leaned against the wall, apparently trying to stay out of the way, but unable or unwilling to leave. Suzanne Tamaki was standing next to Blair, who was attempting to answer the rapid-fire questions hurled at him by one of the officers. Jim recognized the one guarding the doorway: it was Keith Hightower, as he'd expected. But not the one in Sandburg's face. It wasn't Kister – Hightower must have a new partner.

"I haven't been here since yesterday morning!" Blair was expostulating now.

"Got anyone who can verify that?" snarled his inquisitor.

"My roommate, Jim—" Sandburg started to reply, only to be cut off mid-sentence.

"Some other student, I take it?" The tone oozed unspoken contempt for college students, graduate or otherwise.

"Czerny, no, he lives with—" Hightower, who had caught sight of Ellison's approach from his position by the door, tried to intervene.

Jim stepped nearer, and cleared his throat. "No, that would be me," he said with deceptive calm, and when the patrolman, Czerny, swung about, he held up his badge once more. "Detective Ellison, Major Crimes. Mr. Sandburg is an official ride-along observer and consultant with the police department, and has been my partner for three years. And yes, we share an apartment."

"Jim…." Blair's softly sighed exhalation was a welcome in itself.

"Hello, Jim; glad you made it. Good to see you again." Suzanne smiled up at the tall detective. "Major Crimes handling this one, I take it?"

"Dunno…maybe….Suzanne, you really need to come back and work for the PD; it's quieter than Rainier," Ellison teased, then took another step, which brought him close to Blair. He reached out to place a casual hand on his Guide's shoulder, and felt Blair quiver beneath his touch. "You okay, Chief?"

Officer Czerny's face was flushed with anger at having this convenient suspect so easily snatched from him. "Detective Ellison….You can vouch for his whereabouts today and last night?" he demanded, incensed.

Ellison's jaw tightened, and his eyes went icy. Hightower, seeing it, rolled his eyes and deliberately turned back towards the crime scene. Czerny wasn't such a bad partner, even if he _was_ new to Cascade, and Hightower didn't want to watch him being flayed alive by the legendary Detective Ellison's scathing tongue. Almost everyone knew about Ellison and his unusual associate, but Czerny, having transferred recently from Spokane, had a lot to learn about the Cascade PD.

Suzanne's mouth curled up at one corner. _She_ had no aversion to watching; she was friends with both Blair and Jim, and had been most definitely _un_ impressed by the uniformed officer's attitude towards Blair. Lisa and DeWayne stared, fascinated.

"I can." Jim's tone was curt. "He was at the precinct – in the Major Crimes bullpen, to be exact – from noon yesterday until 5:30 p.m. After that we had dinner, and then were on stakeout together, until 12:30 a.m. Following that, we were at home – asleep, for the most part – and I dropped him off in front of Donovan Hall at 9:55 this morning. Want more details? What we had for breakfast?"

Czerny deflated at this terse recitation of unshakable facts, but tried another tack. "What about the rest of today?"

"I've been in classes from ten until three," Blair volunteered, his voice much calmer now that Jim was there to vouch for him. "And yes, there are dozens of students who can attest to that. I told you, I haven't been here since yesterday morning!"

"We were in his last class," DeWayne put in, stepping away from the wall to insinuate his considerable presence into the group defending Blair. "And we walked here with him. We were with him when he opened the door and found the body."

Czerny gave up. "Okay, okay." He stepped back, admitting defeat with surprising grace. "My apologies, Mr. Sandburg."

Jim, with a final squeeze of his friend's shoulder, stepped over to the yellow-taped doorway. Hightower moved aside to grant him entrance, but the detective halted, staring incredulously. He felt someone move up close behind him, and – expecting it to be Blair – was startled to hear Suzanne's voice, instead.

"Spooky, isn't it?" she said. "The surface resemblances are eerie."

For the victim – whose face was turned towards the door, granting Jim an clear view – was on the young side. Perhaps a few years older than Sandburg. Slightly under average height, and sturdily built. He was dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket. Brown hair streamed in a long, smooth waterfall from a leather tie at the nape of his neck, and a pair of gold-wire-rimmed glasses, now twisted beyond repair, were half under his cheek.

The features were different; the hair was lighter brown, and straight, instead of the rippling burnished waves Sandburg sported; the glasses were gold-rimmed, not silver, but….Jim's blood ran cold. At first glance, Jared Mentken could have been Blair Sandburg's brother.

A bustle and clatter on the stairs announced the arrival of Serena Chang and her crew from Forensics, closely followed by a couple of detectives out of Homicide. They greeted Ellison's presence with surprise; a brief discussion ended in a decision that Homicide would lead the investigation, but Jim and Blair would contribute where they could, and the two teams would combine their efforts and findings, at least for the time being.

Hightower and Czerny were dispatched to stand guard at the top of the basement stairs – Czerny still flushed and looking disgruntled, but evidently having learned that one didn't mess with Major Crimes' favorite observer, no matter what circumstantial evidence seemed to say. They were immediately busy trying to deflect curious onlookers and – shortly – university higher-ups.

Czerny was good at this, Jim noted to himself, unashamedly eavesdropping as the cop turned away some department heads and a dean or two. He'd remember that, if he ever had to come up with a security detail.

Suzanne Tamaki opened up a currently-unoccupied office down the hall, and offered its use to the detectives, to get statements from Lisa and DeWayne before allowing them to leave.

Jim, Blair, and Detective Rice from Homicide ducked under the crime scene tape and joined Ms. Chang and her forensic team.

"Anything you can tell us yet?" Ellison asked her.

Serena glanced up and sighed. "Jim, I've barely gotten started," she chided. "He's been dead at least eight hours, maybe more," she went on. "Blood's dried, definite rigor mortis. Give me some more time." She returned to her tasks.

Blair swallowed hard, and averted his eyes from Mentken's body. "My dagger…" he whispered. "Jim, why would anybody do this – do it here? With my dagger?"

The Sentinel looked down at him, blue eyes bleak. _Can't he_ _see_ _? Doesn't he realize that this may have been a_ _botched_ _killing? A mistake? That_ _he_ _was meant to be the one with the dagger in his back, not some archaeology professor?_ Or was it something else…an almost-equally diabolical reason? Rather than stating his first gut reaction to the question, Jim opted for the second choice, grim though it might be.

"To frame you, Sandburg," he growled softly. "To frame you for murder."

##########

"You'd have ordinarily been in your office at 8 a.m., then?" Short and slightly rotund, with dark hair and mischievous blue eyes, Detective Rice jotted quick squiggles of information into his notebook, as he and Blair leaned against the wall just outside the cordoned-off room.

Inside, Jim was prowling about, in tandem with Serena's assistants. Since he was relatively familiar with Blair's office, he could tell if something was more or less out of place, or didn't belong. The key word being _relatively_. _How in the hell does Sandburg manage to_ _do_ _anything in here?_

"That's right," Blair nodded confirmation, trying to pay attention to Rice's queries while at the same time keeping a weather eye on his Sentinel. "If I hadn't been with Jim on that stakeout, and decided to bag office hours…." He leaned his head back against the wall with a weary sigh. "Pure, unadulterated luck."

"So it was someone who knows your schedule," the homicide detective surmised. "Figured you'd be here with a freshly-dead body and no alibi for the time." He made another notation.

"My schedule's posted outside the door," Blair reminded him, and pointed at the typewritten page on the wall. "Anyone and everyone who cares to look would know my schedule."

Rice sighed. "You're not helping me much, Sandburg, ya know? But that's your dagger, no question about that?"

"No question. It's a ceremonial dagger from the Izozo tribe; it was a gift from a friend. It was special—" Sandburg broke off, choking a little. His cherished dagger was now a murder weapon. Even if he ever got it back…he wasn't sure he _wanted_ it back, any more. He took a deep breath. _Not the time to think about that now, give this guy anything you can to work with, Sandburg!_ "I usually keep it up on that third shelf." He pointed. "There's a little stand – Jim!" he broke off, raising his voice peremptorily. "Jim, check on that third shelf; that's where I kept the dagger!"

Detective Rice chuckled, watching Ellison obediently move towards the shelf. "Yeah, you're his partner, all right," he said softly. "Nobody else could boss Ellison around like that – well, except maybe Captain Banks."

"Only on a good day," Blair murmured, careful not to indicate whether he meant _Simon_ could only boss Jim around on a good day, or _he_ could! He knew Jim would pick up the comments, and grinned a little when the Sentinel turned partially around and defiantly shook his head before returning his attention to the shelf in question. "Oh yes I can, Jim!" he whispered, nearly sub-vocal, and had to stifle a laugh when, out of Rice's line of sight, Jim casually flipped him off, over his shoulder.

"And you say you 'sort of' knew the victim?" Rice continued his questioning.

"We aren't in the same department – he taught Archaeology, and I teach Anthropology – but the fields are related, and we'd see each other at faculty meetings occasionally, or just around campus. I knew who he was. Just someone to say 'hi' to, and then forget…." Blair felt his throat tighten at the casual dismissal.

"Anyone ever tell you, you guys look alike?"

Blair stared at the homicide detective, honestly perplexed, then glanced into the office, but his view of the corpse was obscured by Serena. "Do we? I mean, we both have long hair, and wore glasses sometimes, and I guess our builds are about the same…but I never saw the similarity as being that close."

"Take it from me, you do," Rice grunted. He flipped to a new notebook page and continued his questions: "And can you explain how the killer might have gotten into your office? How Mentken got in?"

"Tell a custodian they needed to drop something off in my office…jimmy the lock…manage to get hold of a master key…." Blair shook his head in defeat. "There are any number of ways, man. I have no clue."

Serena Chang had been inspecting the door lock closely. "Jim, what do you think? Did someone pick this lock?"

Ellison answered the summons and after a brief look, nodded and shrugged. "Maybe," he conceded, "but someone could have used a credit card in the opening, and not messed with the lock at all, and gotten in just the same. And anyone clumsy with a key could have scratched the lock anyway." He shot a quick, concerned glance at his white-faced partner. "Denny, you about done interrogating Sandburg?"

Rice shrugged. "Well, no, but there's no reason we can't finish it up later." He snapped his notebook shut and returned it to his pocket. "Blair, nice to meet you; sorry it was in these circumstances. You know the routine; if you think of anything—"

"If he thinks of anything, he'll probably tell me," Jim informed the other detective, grinning. "But don't worry, we'll see you get the info."

Denny Rice snorted tolerantly. "You Major Crimes dicks all think you're God's gift….All right, Krupicka and I are going to head over to Mentken's office now," he said, as sandy-haired Charlie Krupicka joined them. "You guys comin' along?"

Jim cast another discreet glance at Blair. "Not right now," he decided. "We might later, but four of us would just get in each others' way." _Besides, I don't want an audience around when I do what I do…and if that's not enough excuse, Sandburg looks like he needs to sit down for a little while, and he's not going to give in while you two are here!_

"Good enough. I'll send a copy of our reports up to Major Crimes for you. Catch you later." Krupicka and Rice departed; the only ones left now were Jim, Blair and the forensics team.

"Was there anything on the dagger stand?" Blair lifted inquiring eyebrows at his partner, who shook his head grimly.

"Clean," he stated. "Wiped clean. No prints at all."

Blair nodded comprehension. "I'd hoped they'd gotten careless, and forgotten the stand," he sighed. He snapped his fingers, struck by a sudden thought. "I'd better check my e-mail while I'm here."

He moved to sit at his cluttered desk, and hit the power button for his computer. While it booted, he stared gloomily at Jim, who was still prowling restlessly about and looking even more formidable than usual; having his Guide's personal office space used for a killing ground upset the Sentinel more than he cared to admit.

Blair tapped his fingers impatiently as he waited for the computer to finish its cycle; then he clicked into his e-mail program, and began to scan through it, muttering softly to himself. "Meeting notice…spam…seminar ad…seminar notice…spam…meeting notification….Request for appointment with student…uh-oh, what's this?"

Ellison turned, alerted by his partner's change in tone, and came to read over Blair's shoulder, following along as Blair whispered the words:

" **Blair – I've got something I'd like to show you…an artifact I just received, that I'd like to ask you about. Think I know** _ **when**_ **it's from, but I could use your expertise as to exactly** _ **where**_ **. Can I drop by your office early on Wednesday? I know you have office hours then. Let me know if that's not okay, and we'll find some other time. No pressure, ya know? Just curious.**

 **Thanks,**

 **Jared Mentken**

Blair turned in his chair, frowning in confusion. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"What doesn't?"

"Jared Mentken was tops in ID-ing stuff. I could see me asking him for help, but not the other way around. But…" The expression in the sea-blue eyes changed from confusion to sorrow. "I would have come in, if I'd known he wanted to see me….I might have saved his life if I'd been here—"

"Chief, if you'd been here early this morning, there might have been TWO bodies on your office floor, not one!" Ellison reminded him grimly.

Blair blanched. He leaned his elbows on the desk, and laid his forehead against his clenched fists. "I never thought of that," he whispered. Suddenly his head shot up. "JIM!"

Ellison jerked around, startled by his partner's yelp. "What?"

"Where's the artifact? He said he was bringing over an artifact to show me…where's the artifact?"

Jim gazed around blankly. "Any idea what we're looking for?"

"No, but it might be something small….Serena, there's nothing beneath the body, is there?"

She shook her head. "No, nothing. And I didn't find anything unusual in his pockets…I mean, nothing that looked like what you're talking about."

"Could Mentken have put it somewhere in here?" Ellison looked at the shelves again, almost despairingly. "Would you recognize something new, Chief? There's so much stuff here…."

"Well, yeah…given some time…." Blair stood up, and began scanning the floor, the shelves, his desk, trying to spot anything that was unfamiliar or out of place. "Why didn't he give me a hint as to what sort of thing it was?" he mourned. "I haven't a clue to what we're looking for."

He stopped, and turned his horrified gaze on his partner. "Could the murderer have taken it? My God, Jim, what if Mentken was killed for it, whatever it is? Because of it!"

"Logical assumption. Find the artifact, find the murderer," Ellison mused. "Or…find the murderer and find the artifact." He frowned thoughtfully. "Chief, what if the artifact was just a ruse? What if Mentken wanted to talk to you for some other reason, and used that as an excuse, so that no one would suspect?"

"Why would he want to talk to me?" the Guide demanded. "We barely knew each other, remember?"

"Because you're known to be associated with the police department," Serena offered, from her position kneeling on the floor beside the body. "If he was in some sort of trouble and wanted advice…."

"Why didn't I just come in for office hours…?" Blair flung himself back into his desk chair, staring bleakly at the computer screen.

"Chief, second-guessing yourself doesn't do any good now," Jim said quietly. "Maybe Rice and Krupicka will find some reference to something new in Mentken's office, and we can look there later ourselves. But for now…." Jim rubbed his Guide's shoulder gently. "Let's call it good for now. There isn't anything else of importance in your e-mail, is there?"

"No." Sandburg closed the program down, then got to his feet. Jim, feeling protective, automatically moved to stand close beside him. They watched as Serena and her assistants efficiently bagged Mentken's body, and prepared it for transport back to Dan Wolf's autopsy room.

"Kinda eerie," Blair murmured. "I'm beginning to understand how the legends of 'fetches' started. I never realized how alike we were until now."

"Fetch?" Serena raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

"Yeah – another word for doppelgänger. Supposedly, if you see your doppelgänger, you'll die…."

"That's awful!" Serena exclaimed, horrified.

Ellison, who had noticed the similarity at once, and was unnerved by it, became aware of minute tremors shaking his partner, despite Blair's attempts at control, and made a quick decision.

"Chief, grab whatever you need and let's get out of here," he commanded. "We can brainstorm back at the station; we don't need to do it here."

"You sure you don't want to go through Jared's office?" Blair looked grateful, but hesitant.

"Not while Krupicka and Rice are there; we'll do it later." Jim tugged gently on his partner's arm. "C'mon, buddy; you need a break. It's already past six, I know you didn't have lunch, and you've had a bad shock. Frankly, you look like several miles of bad road….Serena—" he turned to address the woman, struck by a sudden thought, "you don't need Blair to stay and lock up, do you?"

"If Blair could loan me his key, I'll do it when we leave," she replied, "and return the key by tomorrow morning. But Blair, if you think you'll need things for classes in the next couple of days, get them now. We may not be able to take the tape down for a day or two, and getting in and out might be a problem."

"Probably not strictly procedure," Jim muttered, as Blair hastened to gather up stacks of test papers and notebooks, and a few textbooks, "but I won't tell if you don't, Chief."

##########

"But why?" Sandburg persisted, 45 minutes later, as he and Jim sat at Jim's desk in the deserted bullpen, sharing containers of Thai take-out. "Why would anyone kill Jared Mentken and dump him in my office? What possible motive—"

"Chief, no one killed him and then dumped him in your office," Ellison reminded him gently. "Mentken was killed there, in your office. With your dagger. And the motives are pretty obvious: someone wanted to plant suspicion on you, whether or not they could make it stick. Or someone really meant to kill you, and mistook Mentken for you. Or, it ties to that missing artifact. At least three possible options."

"Okay…" Blair paused to chew and swallow. "but it still doesn't make any sense."

"Who says murders have to make sense? You know better than that by now. Okay….Think. Who did you and Mentken know in common?" Ellison inquired, reaching for a pen and paper with one hand while shoving a forkful of food into his mouth with the other.

Sandburg rolled his eyes. "Sheesh, Jim…faculty – students. Clerical staff. Custodial staff. Shall I go on?"

"'Sarcasm – just one more service I offer,'" Jim quoted dryly, and Blair looked abashed.

"Sorry." Abandoning his meal, the younger man pushed his chair back and stood, beginning to pace around the room, swerving to avoid the numerous desks. "This is just so…so bizarre! I can't even wrap my mind around it, ya know?" He ran agitated hands through his hair, causing the rippling curls to stand out in a fluffy aureole. "I mean, I wouldn't have said we either of us had enemies on campus – not that kind of enemies, I mean; somebody might not like me all that well, or not like Jared, but to KILL him? And try to implicate ME? Or to kill him because they THOUGHT he was me? Either way you look at it, he died because of me!"

Deciding that logical thought processes were far removed from Sandburg's brain at the moment, Jim abandoned his attempt to work on solving a murder case, and instead concentrated on attempting to soothe and calm an overwrought Guide.

"Take it easy, Chief." Getting to his feet, Jim moved to his partner's side, and gripped his shoulders gently, pulling him to a stop. "Come on, calm down. It wasn't your fault Jared Mentken was killed. Take some deep breaths, you know the drill. Try to relax."

Trying to comply, Blair was surprised to find his teeth chattering together when he attempted speech. "I – I – this is…is…s-st-stupid!" He shivered, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on relaxing, but the insides of his eyelids seemed to be painted with the image of Jared Mentken lying on the floor of his office, with that dagger handle protruding….He shuddered, sickened, and felt Jim's fingers tighten on his shoulders.

"Sandburg. Sit. C'mon, sit down."

Blindly, he let himself be steered back to his chair and seated; felt the loss of contact as Jim momentarily let go of him, followed by the warm weight of Jim's leather jacket settling about his shoulders, as Ellison draped it there. Felt a hand guiding his to the steaming Styrofoam cup of tea, and urging it to his lips.

"he…died…because of…me…."

"No…no. Not your fault. Come on, Blair, drink. Sip it slowly – but drink it."

Obediently, Blair sipped, and felt the hot liquid slide down, thawing the interior icy chill just slightly. He sighed shakily and drank again, more deeply.

"That's better." Ellison's quiet voice was as warming as the tea.

"Jim, you don't really think Jared Mentken was supposed to be killed, do you? You think that whoever did it thought he was me?" Blair's voice was very small, barely audible.

Jim winced at the sound of that hesitant question. He hated…loathed…despised – hearing that frisson of fear in his Guide's voice; it brought out every primal protective instinct in his being.

"I'm not sure what I think. All our theories are possibilities at this point. We'll just have to wait until we get more data. And we WILL get more data, Chief; trust me on that. We'll get to the bottom of this—" Ellison paused, and laid a reassuring hand on his partner's arm. "—and I'm gonna keep you safe, even if it means not taking my eyes off you, 24/7, until it's solved!"

"Now that would be a thankless task—" Blair chuckled grimly. Whatever else he was about to say, however, was lost, as the door to the hallway opened and Simon Banks walked in. They were unsurprised to see their captain enter, despite the hour. Simon wasn't one to abide by the time clock, not when something was going down with the people in his department.

"Sandburg – glad to see you're all right." Banks' tone was dry, but his relief was genuine. His keen eyes took in the sight of Blair huddled in Jim's coat, clutching a steaming foam cup in trembling fingers – and the way Ellison was protectively hovering over his partner. _Looks like everything just hit him – poor kid! Time for a distraction of sorts._ "I understand that you're not primary on this case, but…what can you tell me about Sandburg's DB, gentlemen?"

They told him what they knew and what they merely speculated: Jared Mentken had written to Sandburg requesting his help in identifying an artifact – said artifact apparently now missing; and Sandburg could think of no logical reason that Mentken would have needed his help with artifact classification. Mentken had evidently come to Blair's office early that morning, and somehow had entered the room. Someone else had either been lying in wait for him, or had arrived later – and that someone had stabbed him in the back with one of Sandburg's South American tribal daggers.

"We have several possible scenarios," Jim concluded. "One, our unknown murderer Mr. X wanted the artifact, or didn't want Blair to see the artifact. He either followed Mentken to Blair's office, or got there first and lay in wait, and stabbed him, taking the artifact with him when he left. Two, Mentken was killed for some unknown reason having nothing to do with the artifact, and the killer just happened to choose Sandburg's office to do it in.

"Pretty weak hypothesis," Banks commented wryly, and Jim nodded agreement.

"Three, someone really meant to kill Sandburg, and mistook Mentken for him. They didn't look like identical twins, or anything, but if someone was working from a written description, then it would be an easy mistake. That's where it starts to get complicated, because the only reason anyone might want to kill Sandburg is because of his association with me."

"No…no!" Blair denied vehemently. "I refuse to let you take the blame for this one; this is University-related, not cop-related!"

"Blair," his Sentinel said gently, but with a twinkle in his eyes, "how often did anyone try to kill you before you worked with me?"

"Um…are we counting threats from pissed-off boyfriends?"

Captain Banks rolled his eyes and attempted to redirect the conversation back to the main channel. "Why would anyone kill Mentken over some ancient artifact-thingy?"

"Love the description," Blair murmured softly, "'artifact-thingy' is just soooooo comprehensive! As for killing over one," he continued hastily, seeing Banks glowering at him, "some artifacts can be worth a lot of money, to the right people. Or…well, lots of – mmm, repute? Status? But at first guess, I'd say that…well, I hate to admit it, but we all know it happens – someone was probably smuggling something inside it. Drugs being the most obvious, with jewels a second choice."

"Completing the circle of University/police involvement," Ellison commented ironically. "We really need to find that artifact, if only we had any clue what it WAS! The fact that Mentken was stabbed in the back is also interesting. Either the killer jumped him as soon as he entered the office – and from the way the body was positioned, I don't think that's what happened – or the killer was someone he knew, and trusted enough to turn his back on."

Before either Banks or Sandburg could respond, the office fax machine began to hum and churn out pages. When it _beeped_ completion, Jim walked over and gathered up the scattered sheets from where they'd floated to the floor.

"It's from Denny Rice," he said, shuffling through them. "Describing their search through Mentken's office – and all the personal bio data, too."

"He wasn't married – at least I don't think he was," Sandburg said. "He dated around, but I never saw him with anyone on a long-term basis."

"Divorced, says here," Jim said absently, still glancing over the pages. "No kids…ex-spouse lives somewhere other than Cascade. Parents deceased."

"Sad," Blair commented drearily. "Really no one to mourn his death….That's so awfully sad. Everyone ought to have someone who is sorry when—" He gulped and shivered. Ellison gave him a quick look, then crossed the intervening space between them, and settled down on the edge of the desk, nearly on top of Blair. He reached out and laid a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder, then slid it up to gently squeeze the back of Sandburg's neck. Simon, watching the way the tension ebbed visibly from Sandburg's frame, marveled silently at the nonverbal communication between the two: Blair had been in need of comfort, and Jim had reacted instinctively to provide it.

"Blair, he's not unmourned. You feel sorry that he's gone," Ellison said, very low, and his partner blinked a bit and then smiled.

"That's true, I guess." Sandburg straightened up and reached for the papers Homicide had sent to them. "What does it say about Mentken's office…?"

After reading the brief description of what the two Homicide detectives had found when they visited Mentken's office, Blair frowned thoughtfully at his partner.

"Jim – Rice and Krupicka mention that there are open books all over Jared's desk…now, they didn't know about the artifact; they'd already left before I found his e-mail. So if Jared was trying to identify something, he'd probably have reference materials sitting around. Maybe we can figure out what sort of thing we're looking for by seeing what he was researching. Let's go over to his office."

"Sounds like a plan. You got your second wind now?" Ellison asked, draining his cup of tea and rising to his feet.

Blair stood also, slipping Jim's jacket from his shoulders and handing it to him, before donning his own, lighter-weight one. "Yeah, I'm good. Dinner helped."

"You should've eaten more," the Sentinel grumbled, but Blair just smiled, then stopped, holding up a hand.

"Wait, we ought to let the Homicide guys know about the artifact." He reseated himself, pulled up a report form, and began to type, swiftly creating a concise document to send to Rice and Krupicka. Jim, no slouch himself when it came to a keyboard, although he hated the tedium of paperwork, watched enviously as his Guide's fingers scampered across the keys.

Blair hastily read over the report, saved it, printed a copy, snatched it from the printer tray, and handed it to his partner. "Fax it to 'em?" he requested. Ellison complied, inwardly rejoicing that his effervescent friend had bounced back from his shock, at least for the moment, and was his usual efficient self.

##########

It took them only a short time to locate a custodian and request entrance to Jared Mentken's office in the building which housed the Archaeology department. As Blair had said, the maintenance staff all knew him, and if there had been any doubt about allowing them into the room, Jim's badge removed all arguments. They were ushered in with due formality, and left on their own.

Ellison gazed around, mentally comparing the room to his partner's basement cavern in Hargrove Hall. Jared Mentken, being a full faculty member, had rated a slightly larger office, but to Jim's amusement, it seemed that he was the same sort of pack rat as Sandburg…shelves were crammed with a conglomeration of books, magazines, photographs, and artifacts of every sort imaginable, some boxed, some not. As Detective Rice had reported, the large desk in the center of the room was covered with open volumes; it did appear that the archaeology professor had been searching for something or other.

Blair was already bending over the desk, avidly gazing down at the books. He turned a few pages, squinted over a yellow legal pad which was lined with scribbled notes, and nodded decisively. "I think we're looking for something like this," he announced at last, and pointed to an illustration in one of the open tomes. "At least, this seems to be what Jared was researching before his death. The goddess Ixchel."

Jim craned his neck to see. The picture was of a figurine, apparently pottery, with a squatty build and a distinctly unattractive face – not exactly the modern-day version of a goddess, but then, who was he to judge? He'd seen representations of deities nearly as ugly when he'd resided with the Chopec, after all.

"Any reason why Mentken wouldn't have been able to identify this?"

"Not that I can imagine," Sandburg replied, shaking his head. "Ixchel is pretty widely known; she's not a minor, obscure deity."

"So his asking for your help was a blind," Jim concluded. "Just a reason to try and get to you – talk to you. Perhaps ask for your help. And all this stuff—" he indicated Mentken's desk with a wave "—was camouflage."

His partner nodded. "Now that I know what I'm looking for, I think we ought to check my office again."

Sandburg muttered curses when he realized that Serena Chang still possessed his office keys, but it didn't take them long to hunt up the night watchman at Hargrove and explain why they needed access to his office once again. Grumbling but acquiescent, the man let them in and departed.

Wisely, Blair locked the door behind them, and set about switching on all the lights in the room. He studiously avoided looking at the blood-soaked spot in front of his desk where Jared Mentken's body had lain, and Jim could definitely sense an increase in his heartbeat and respiration, but Sandburg's face was resolute, his lips firm.

"Now, we look. Extensively," he said quietly. "Anything you see that resembles that figurine, Jim; even if it's something you think I might have already had in here."

"Got it, Chief." Willing – as he almost always was – to let his Guide lead him, Jim nodded. He reached into a pocket and brought out a small wad of disposable plastic gloves. "Let's assume we're going to find it – don't want to get our fingerprints on it, after all."

Blair accepted his pair of gloves, and they set to work.

In the end, it turned out to be almost absurdly easy.

"Jim…"

"Hmmm?" The Sentinel turned from his study of a shelf of _objets d'art_ , alerted by the hushed tone of his partner's voice. Blair was crouched behind his desk, pulling everything out of a bottom drawer; as Ellison watched, the younger man held up one gloved hand, clutching a knobby lump about eight inches high, squarish in shape, with ugly features.

"Is that it?"

"Well, it's certainly not anything I recognize," Blair chuckled. "I mean, I recognize it – I'm fairly certain it's Ixchel – but I never owned a figurine of her before!" He straightened up, grimacing as his knees creaked a protest. "I want to go back to the precinct before we start checking her out," he said. "If Jared hid her in my desk, he had a good reason. If that reason happens to be something – um – irregular inside her, I want to be surrounded by a whole lot of witnesses before we start digging it out." He grinned. "Besides, I want her out of here. I have enough problems as it is; I don't need an ancient fertility goddess in my office to create more!"

"Fertility goddess? That?" Jim snorted in disbelief.

"Well, not my idea of one, but a lot of people believed in it, I guess."

Jim conceded the point and nodded his agreement. "Fine with me." He looked around. "You gonna just stuff her in your pocket, or what?"

"I've got some sacks here someplace…" Blair opened another drawer and rummaged briefly. "Here." He pulled out a plastic grocery bag.

"Jesus, Sandburg, isn't it kinda insulting to stick a goddess in a Safeway sack?" Jim remonstrated, watching as his partner slid the lumpy little figure into the bag.

Blair stared at him for a moment, and then began to laugh wildly. "I – I have – no idea!" he gasped, between guffaws. "I've…never…h-had the…opportunity before!"

Sensing incipient hysteria and recalling that his Guide had had an extremely long and stressful day, Jim smoothly slid into Blessed Protector mode. "Take it easy, Junior," he said soothingly, and gently removed the sack from Blair's grasp. "I'll take Ixchel. Why don't you shut things down in here and let's go, okay?"

Still chortling, Sandburg complied, scrubbing a hand across his face occasionally to wipe off the tears caused by his unbridled mirth. Jim watched impassively, holding the sack containing the pottery figure. Finally, Blair seemed satisfied that his office was tidy enough, that all the drawers were closed, that all the books were where they belonged; he switched out the desk lamp and moved towards the door, reaching for the overhead light switch.

"Okay, man, I'm good. Let's take Ixchel down to the station and see if she'll tell us any secrets."

They ducked under the crime-scene tape and turned the knob that locked the door behind them, then walked quietly up the dimly-lit stairs, heading for the parking lot, Jim still cradling the plastic sack in the crook of one arm. Blair moved a few steps ahead as they exited the building.

"If this little escapade doesn't bring us any clues about why Jared was killed, I don't know where to turn next."

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it, Chief. After all, maybe Rice and Krupicka will come up with something; we're not in this alone, remember?"

Sandburg nodded and quickened his pace yet again. Jim frowned just a little; Blair ordinarily stuck close as a second skin when they walked together; this distancing himself was uncharacteristic and troubling. "What's the matter, Chief, you scared to be near Ixchel, or something?"

Blair turned, but kept moving, walking backwards as they crossed the parking lot. "Like I said, Jim, I'm keeping a respectful distance from her; fertility goddesses are not something I care to mess with at this stage of my life, ya know?" He spun about and broke into a jog, heading toward Jim's truck.

"So you pass her off to me to handle? Thanks a lot, partner. And you better not be insinuating that I need the services of a fertility goddess!"

At the far end of the parking lot, a car engine roared to life.

Jim, still moving at a leisurely pace rather than trying to catch up with his hyperactive Guide, registered the sound of the motor without paying much attention to it. It was only when it abruptly became much louder, much too quickly, that he recognized the potential danger – and broke into a run, knowing he was too far away to prevent a catastrophe. "Sandburg! Sandburg! Look out!"

Blair halted, and turned back towards his partner – and at that moment, halogen high beams flashed on as the car bore down upon him! For an instant he froze, blinded; caught in the brilliant light like a moth entranced by a flame; then he was turning, spinning sideways, lunging towards the nearest row of parked cars in a desperate bid for shelter from the oncoming vehicle. He felt what seemed to be a mere tap against his trailing right foot, and then the jolt of his body rolling across the hood of a car, followed by the even harsher impact as he hit the pavement.

The screech of tires on asphalt and the deafening roar of a revved-up engine at close quarters filled his head as he lay half-stunned; the air forced from his lungs…and then it was gone, fading into the distance, and all Blair could hear was the thunderous beating of his heart – echoed by the pounding of running footsteps coming ever closer.

"SANDBURG!"

 _Everything hurt._

"Blair…"

 _And he couldn't seem to get any air…._

"Chief…buddy, can you hear me?"

 _He was afraid to open his eyes, afraid that reality would be worse than this painful limbo._

"Easy, Blair, just take it easy; everything's all right."

Jim's voice, talking to him, encouraging him. Jim's hands, moving gently over his body, rubbing, soothing the pain.

"C'mon Chief, breathe…you got the wind knocked out of you, but you'll be okay."

Tentatively, Blair attempted a small breath, and was almost surprised to find that his paralyzed lungs allowed a little air in. He tried again, with similar results.

"There you go…." Jim's voice shook. "Open your eyes, buddy."

He did so – and attempted to smile up at his worried partner. "I guess…she objected to…the Safeway sack…after all!" he croaked – and then groaned as his whole body protested the mistreatment it had just received. Trying to ignore the pain, Blair pushed himself up on an elbow.

"No – stay still." Ellison was quick to hold him down. "Don't try to move yet."

"I'm okay – really, I'm just shaken up." Blair tried again, and this time made it to both elbows. "Just bruises, Jim – and maybe a few years shaved off my life, from fright!"

"I think you took a few off mine," the Sentinel growled, running careful, questing hands over his partner's arms and legs. "Your ribs okay? Can you take a deep breath without it hurting?"

"Yeah…." Blair demonstrated his ability to breathe. "See? I'm fine." With Jim's help, he scrambled ungracefully to his feet, and leaned against Ellison's supporting arm for a moment. "Did you get a look at the car? I didn't."

"Not a good enough one for a solid ID, but I know it was a small, sporty-type. Dark blue or black. Halogen headlights and—" Jim inhaled, and held it a few seconds. "diesel fueled, not gasoline."

"Is it open season on social sciences teachers or something?" Sandburg asked unsteadily, clutching at Jim's jacket front to maintain his equilibrium. He felt something odd with his right shoe, and bent down again to look. "H-holy shit…."

"Only ones with long hair and glasses and leather jackets – What's wrong?"

"My shoe – I thought I felt something hit my foot when the car went by…." Blair held up his right foot, and Jim saw with a shock that the sole of the running shoe had nearly been torn off; it flopped limply, attached by only an inch or so of tattered rubber. "Oh man, I didn't realize just how close…." The Guide gulped audibly, and began to tremble.

Without another word Jim rapidly piloted him across the intervening space to the truck; upon reaching it, he was so attentive in boosting Blair into the passenger seat, he nearly lifted him in bodily. Sandburg exhaled a deep sigh, and tilted his head back to rest against the seat, still shaking. He didn't attempt to buckle his seatbelt, allowing Jim the privilege, knowing deep inside that the Sentinel again needed the reassurance of _doing_ something for his Guide. Dimly, he was aware of Jim closing the door, of the driver's door opening a few seconds later, and the detective sliding behind the wheel.

"Where's…Ixchel?" Blair asked faintly, without opening his eyes.

"She's in my pocket, and if she knows what's good for her, she'll behave herself," Ellison ground out. "Chief, you sure you don't want me to take you to the ER?"

"Positive. Don't need a doctor. Station…go to the station. I want to find out what – if anything – is going on with the figurine. Besides, I think I'll feel safer there." Blair forced a laugh and rolled his head sideways, lifting his lashes just enough to see his partner.

Jim didn't join in the laughter; his jaw was tight, and his hands were clenched on the steering wheel, but his voice was deceptively calm. "We could put her in Simon's office," he offered, striving for a light tone. "We don't need to tell him she's a fertility goddess, and just wait and see what happens…."

Sandburg began to laugh, and then groaned. "Ow, ow, don't crack jokes right now, man!" Despite the discomfort, he continued to chuckle. "Ellison, you've got an evil streak hidden under all that macho stoicism, ya know?"

"Mmm, is that right?" Jim started the truck.

##########

Despite the fact that it was now past nine p.m., the lights were still on in the Major Crimes bullpen, and more specifically, in Captain Banks' office. Blair and Jim entered quietly, Ellison's hand solicitously beneath his Guide's elbow.

"Jim, I'm fine…really. You can stop treating me like hand-blown crystal, okay?" Blair eased himself down into his usual chair, wincing despite his words.

"If I was treating you like crystal I'd have taken you home and wrapped you up in tissue paper," the Sentinel retorted. "But you'll notice we're not home; we're here, where you insisted we come. Despite my better judgment."

Before Sandburg could frame a reply, the captain's office door opened and Simon Banks strode out. He paused, looking keenly at the two men, then advanced upon them again.

"What in Sam Hill are you two doing, anyway?" he demanded. "Every time you come back here, you look worse! Sandburg, you look like you were run over by a truck!" He broke off, stopped mid-rant by the look on Detective Ellison's face, and the muffled, slightly hysterical shriek of laughter from Sandburg. "What? What did I say?"

"It wasn't…a truck!" Blair babbled. "It was…a…sports car!" He began to giggle again.

Banks stared. "You were run over by a sports car?" he echoed, disbelievingly.

"Close enough," Ellison gritted. "It only missed because he dove over the hood of a car." He reached down and grasped his partner's foot, pulling it into Simon's view. "It ripped the bottom of his shoe off!" He turned back to Blair, and started patting and rubbing the quivering shoulders. "Calm down, Chief – it's not that funny."

"Y-yes…it is!"

Simon muttered a few sulfurous oaths before demanding: "Jim, is he all right? Did you have him checked out by a doctor?"

"No…he refused to go to the ER. I don't think there's anything wrong, other than bruises and some shock, though."

"Hel-LOOOOO! Guys! I'm right here – remember?" Sandburg's giggles had disappeared into huffs of annoyance. "I can speak for myself!"

"Okay, Sandburg; speak for yourself: convince me that you're all right and shouldn't be over at Cascade General right now," Banks commanded sternly.

Faced with Banks in full Captain-mode, the grad student retreated a little. "I'm just shaken up, Si— Captain. Just some bruises, I promise. I don't need a doctor – but some aspirin might not be a bad idea," he admitted reluctantly.

Jim was already digging through one of the desk drawers, emerging triumphantly with a bottle of Advil™. He shook out three caplets and placed them in his partner's hand, then pushed Blair's abandoned cup of tea from their earlier dinner towards him. "Ask and receive, Chief. Take 'em, and I mean right now."

While Blair downed the pain reliever, grimacing at the taste of the cold tea, and then excused himself for a hasty trip to the restroom down the hall, Jim quickly explained what had taken place in the parking lot at Rainier, and then pulled the plastic sack from his jacket pocket. "We think this is what Mentken brought to show Blair. We found it in the bottom drawer of his desk, buried under a bunch of other stuff." As Simon extended a hand, Jim pulled back slightly. "We're being extra-careful, in case of prints, sir."

The captain nodded his understanding, and waited for Jim to slide on another pair of gloves and take out the lumpy little object. When he saw it, he frowned, consideringly. "This…is something extra-special in the archaeology world, Sandburg?" he asked, as the grad student re-entered the bullpen.

"Not in the least," Blair said cheerily, causing Banks to scowl in confusion. "That's why I'm sure there's something else going on with it, Simon." He leaned over the desk, waving one hand for emphasis. "I want Jim to go over it with everything he's got. And I want to do it here, so we can document formally – and having you here as a witness helps, too."

Simon exchanged glances with his top detective. "Thinks he's pretty smart, doesn't he?" he grinned, jerking his head towards Sandburg, and Ellison nodded.

"Yessir, he does. With reason." The Sentinel fixed his partner with a stern look. "Sometimes."

"Yeah, yeah, get on with it, man," Blair murmured, but Jim shook his head obdurately.

"First, you sit down. If there was any way I could get you to lie down, I'd hold out for that – but at the very least, SIT."

Blair shot him a resentful look, but Jim met it with a cool ice-blue stare, and after a few seconds, the younger man backed down…and sat, close to his Sentinel – close enough for solid contact between them, near enough to ground. Ellison smiled slightly. It wasn't often that he won an argument with his Guide.

"Now, was that so hard?"

Sandburg didn't answer, just waved a hand in a 'go on, go on' gesture.

In theory, Simon knew what Jim could do with his senses, in going over a crime scene, or a piece of evidence, but more often than not, he wasn't actually there to see Ellison in action. Watching him now, the captain was fascinated…and not a little humbled.

With Blair sitting beside him, grounded by the solid pressure of their shoulders touching, and knowing that the Guide would pull him out of any incipient zone, Jim felt free to concentrate fully, to allow himself to open up his senses and look for the slightest hint of tampering with the ugly little goddess statue. Vision…touch…scent; he used them all, and after minutes of intense scrutiny, he pulled himself back and said, with great satisfaction:

"Got it."

"GREAT, man!" Blair impulsively flung an arm about his friend's shoulders and squeezed – and then winced, as the movement jarred his abused body. "Ow…" he whispered.

Jim shot him a sharp look, and laid a settling hand against his partner's chest. "Easy does it, Junior. Just sit still, huh?"

"I'm sitting still…I'm sitting terribly still! See how still I'm sitting? What did you find, man?" Blair badgered, trying not to bounce with impatience.

Simon was nearly as impatient as the police observer, but tried to hide it a little better. He leaned over Ellison's desk, staring intently at the artifact as Jim dug in his desk drawer for a tiny implement which looked like – and actually was – a dental probe. Working carefully, he began to scrape a tiny spot on the base of the statue which – when observed closely – was a few shades different in color from its surroundings.

"It's been drilled and re-filled….Whoever did this was an expert," Ellison commented quietly as he worked. "But…there're differences. Chief—" he glanced up briefly, "—slide a sheet of paper under here, would you? Thanks…." A few more scrapes with the probe, and then Jim modified his attack, and jabbed the point directly into the hardened clay. At first it resisted his efforts; then suddenly, the metal penetrated the shell. "There…show us what you've got, pretty lady," he coaxed softly. Twisting the probe to widen the opening, he held Ixchel over the paper, and a tiny stream of fine white powder dribbled out.

Blair gasped, and Jim hastily tilted the figurine before any more of the contents could escape. "Sir?" he said, glancing up at his captain. "Would you – there are some test kits here somewhere, right?"

Banks nodded and hastily searched out the necessary paraphernalia. Blair watched in fascination as the two police officers conducted the test. In just a few minutes, the captain held up the results. "Heroin," he stated.

"That's what I thought," Jim agreed, "but I didn't want to taste it to find out."

"You tasting it to identify it…absolutely no WAY, man!" Blair shuddered. "Remember what happened when you just touched those beads coated with the heroin paste?"

"All too well," Jim said wryly. "Let's get this stuff entered into Evidence. And have Serena check for fingerprints on Ixchel. And then, my little guppy," he added to Sandburg, "we are going home and getting you into bed, ASAP."

Blair, surprisingly, didn't argue. "While you and Simon are doing that, I'm going to send another report down to Homicide," he said. "This is something they need to know."

##########

"Jim…'m okay….Jus' tired, 's'all."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"Whatimezit?"

"11:26. Hold up, let me get the door unlocked." Gently, Ellison caught his roommate and tugged him away from the loft's front door. "Open your eyes, Chief, you're gonna break your nose walking around with your eyes shut like that, one of these times."

Blair sighed and forced his eyes open. He stared blearily around the loft as Jim eased his coat off, and flinched at the movement. "Ow!"

"Want to soak those bruises in a hot bath, or just crash?" Ellison inquired as he hung up his own jacket and began to unbuckle his gun holster.

"Crash." Sandburg said faintly, letting his eyelids droop shut again.

Jim's mouth quirked in a wry grin, and he placed guiding hands on Blair's shoulders, swiveling him towards his room. "Come on, sleepyhead, bed's in this direction." Carefully, he walked his somnolent partner into his room. "Can you take it from here, pal, or do you need some help?"

"I can do it." Blair resolutely opened his eyes. "Man, I don't know why I'm so wiped…."

"Adrenaline," Ellison said sagely. "You've been on an adrenaline trampoline ever since this afternoon, first up and then down and then back up…and you're finally hitting bottom. It's okay, Chief; I think you'll be okay once you get a good night's sleep….Well, except for the bruises."

Despite Blair's assurances that he could manage on his own, Jim remained, and kept a watchful eye on his partner as Sandburg kicked off the ruined pair of running shoes and stripped off his outer layer of clothing. He winced in sympathy as numerous, already-purpling contusions were revealed on Blair's body. "What time do you need to be at school tomorrow?"

Blair concentrated briefly. "Nine," he decided at last, collapsing onto the bed.

"You can sleep until 7:30, then." Jim pulled the blankets up over his Guide, smoothing and tucking them about him with care. "I'm gonna take a shower before I hit the sack. Yell if you need anything."

"Won't need…anything. Just…gonna sleep." Sandburg exhaled a deep sigh, and was asleep before Jim was out of the room.

##########

"I'm what?"

"You're going to have a police escort," Ellison repeated patiently. "Simon and I decided it, last night."

"Without consulting me."

"You need one. Eat your breakfast; it's getting cold."

Blair glared down at his plate of scrambled eggs, then transferred the glare to his partner. "You could have said something."

"You were too tired last night to discuss it."

"For something this important, I would have waked up, believe me!" But the glare was tempering now; merely annoyance instead of full-fledged anger. "You shoulda said something."

"Yeah, I guess." Jim knew that was inadequate, and he knew that his Guide had a valid point, but that wasn't going to change how he felt; Blair needed a guardian until this case was settled.

"Waste of police personnel," Blair mumbled into a bite of toast, keeping his eyes averted.

"Excuse me? Sandburg, one man – a man who looks very much like you – is already dead – in your office, I might add! – and maybe you've forgotten that little parking lot tango you danced last night, but I haven't!" Ellison snapped. "It's looking more and more like our friendly neighborhood murderer is someone on Rainier's campus, you realize…don't you? Until this is cleared up, your safety is a number-one priority!" He gentled his tone. "It's always a number-one priority with me, Chief."

"I know….I haven't forgotten about last night," Blair sighed. "I just…it's just…." Unable to come up with a convincing argument, he picked up his coffee cup and took a sip before continuing. "I just hate to think that someone I might know at Rainier is a killer….But I do realize that all the evidence is pointing that way, Jim; I'm not stupid. I understand the reasoning behind it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Having anticipated more resistance, Jim felt as if he'd been pushing against a wall that unexpectedly dematerialized. He sighed softly. "Chief, we're worried about you. The driver of that car last night meant business."

"I know, I know…." Blair looked up, a tiny smile quirking his lips. "Are you my police protection?"

"No, actually, we tapped Rafe for the job. I'm going to be trying to trace that killer car – and hopefully getting together with Rice and Krupicka to compare notes."

"Whew! That's a relief!"

"It is, huh?" Ellison was stung by this remark, but pressed his lips together tightly, trying his best not to show it. Blair, however, immediately saw through the stony façade. He set down his fork and reached to lay a hand on his partner's rigid forearm.

"Jim…sorry, that came out badly. I didn't mean I don't want you with me; exactly the opposite, man! But – think about it; when you're in Protective Sentinel Mode, you scare the bejeezus out of my students!"

"Protective Sentinel Mode?" Ellison said stiffly.

"Don't deny it; you know what you're like. With you, my friend, they worry about getting their heads ripped off if they so much as sass the teacher. With Rafe, they'll only worry that he might arrest them…or mousse them to death!"

Jim, who had relaxed into affability during Sandburg's explanation, choked on his coffee. "MOUSSE them to death?" he spluttered. "Sandburg, that was damned cruel!" He eyed Blair's wavy tresses and added, "And isn't that a case of the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Nah, I use conditioner, not mousse," his Guide murmured, and placidly returned to eating his eggs.

"Anyway, I wouldn't hurt anyone for sassing you," Ellison mused. "I'd congratulate 'em." He smiled sweetly across the table. "It takes initiative and guts to spar with you."

##########

Despite the 'mousse' comment, Blair had to admit that Rafe looked about as formidable as he'd ever seen the suave detective, when he and Jim connected with him at Rainier. In an effort to blend in, instead of his usual three-piece suit, Rafe was wearing jeans and a sweater – but the lightweight jacket tossed over the top did little to disguise or hide his shoulder holster. And his expression was nearly the equal of Jim's in grimness; a threat to Blair was enough to cause the whole of Major Crimes to rally in support, and Rafe was quite aware of the gravity of the situation.

He also knew that if anything happened to Sandburg, he'd be answering to Jim Ellison, and this was a situation he wanted to avoid at all costs. Facing down a potential murderer versus facing an enraged Ellison – well, given the choice, Rafe preferred to take his chances with the murderer.

"You're done at one, right?" Jim was gripping his partner's shoulder a little more tightly than usual. "And you'll come straight to headquarters, after?"

"Unless something comes up—" Blair raised a hand to stem the lecture he knew was forthcoming. "and if it does, I'll call you, and let you know what's going on."

"I'll stay right with him, Jim," Rafe vowed.

"It's still iffy," Ellison fretted. "Chief, for all you know, the killer's someone you're well acquainted with; he – or she – could walk right up to you without you even being suspicious until it's too late! Whoever it is has probably figured out that we found the figurine by now – hence, the attack in the parking lot last night."

"But I don't even have the figurine any more!" Sandburg argued. "Which is why trying to kill me is senseless; what would it accomplish?"

"I already told you, murder doesn't have to make sense," Jim said tightly. "And how would the murderer know you don't have it?"

Blair looked at his watch and sighed. "I don't have time to discuss this any more now, man; I'll see you about one-thirty. C'mon, Rafe, let's go; I have a class to attend!" For a brief moment he put his hand over Jim's, where it rested on his shoulder; and then hurried away, with Rafe hastening to catch up.

Jim felt a prickle of apprehension run down his spine; usually he wanted Blair to be at school, instead of on police business with him…but he had a feeling he'd sent Blair and Rafe off into the very heart of the trouble, instead of staying safely on the sidelines!

He watched them depart, his face grim.

##########

"Thanks, Suzanne; I appreciate this."

" _I'm glad to do it. I'll have the list for you within an hour, Jim, and I'll fax it over. You do realize, though, that it won't be comprehensive, don't you? If a person has a parking sticker for Rainier, then we've got info on that person's car. If they haven't purchased the sticker – then we don't."_

"I know. But I'm betting that the person who tried to run Sandburg down last night is a regular on campus, and probably has a parking permit."

" _In other words, a student or someone on faculty."_

"Unfortunately…yeah."

Ellison ended the call and checked his PD directory for Rice's extension down in Homicide. When he dialed, it rang several times before anyone picked up the receiver.

" _Detective Rice's desk; Krupicka."_

"This is Jim Ellison – glad I caught you."

" _From the reports you sent down, it looks like you and Sandburg had quite an evening,"_ the other detective commented. _"Denny and I spent some time this morning interviewing the maintenance people over at Rainier, specifically Hargrove Hall, where Sandburg's office is. Think we've got a lead or two."_

"If I come down to Homicide right now, do you have time to fill me in?"

" _Bring your own coffee; whoever made the stuff we've got in our break room must have put paint thinner in it this morning."_

"I'll bring you guys some of Captain Bank's private stash," Jim promised, and hung up.

"Custodians at Hargrove start a shift at seven a.m. We talked to one who said he was asked very politely by Professor Mentken if he could be let into Blair Sandburg's office, because he needed to talk to him about identification of an ancient artifact. That was at approximately 7:30. So he unlocked Sandburg's office and let Mentken in, and then went on his way. He didn't go back down to the basement until much later in the day." Detective Rice squared up his pages of scribbled notes and laid them down in a tidy stack on the Homicide break room table, then took a sip of coffee. "Damn, this is good! You make a Starbucks run, Jim?"

"Nope, asked my captain if I could share some of his coffee with you, since you're kind of involved with Major Crimes on this one," Jim grinned, then sobered. "So, we know that Jared Mentken got to Blair's office around 7:30. Did the janitor see anyone else in the building around that time?"

"He says there were a few others around, but he didn't speak to anyone in particular," Charlie Krupicka groused. "Said it was mostly other instructors; you don't catch students there that early, evidently."

"A faculty member being the murderer makes more sense than a student," Jim commented quietly. "Maybe we can show him pictures, or something, see if he recognizes anyone…"

"Background check on Mentken was a bust – the guy was clean as a whistle. He didn't even get traffic tickets!" Krupicka sounded almost irritated by Jared Mentken's pristine record.

"Any luck with tracing the car that nearly flattened your partner?" Rice inquired.

"Suzanne Tamaki is working on it. She's got records of all the people who have Rainier parking permits, and what kinds of cars. If – and that's a big 'if' – our perp parks there routinely, we can start narrowing it down, at least."

"So Sandburg found the figurine in his desk and it was filled with heroin, hmmm?" Krupicka scowled thoughtfully. "Ellison, you're…sure…that he isn't involved somehow? – I mean, it was in his desk, and Mentken was killed in his office. I know he didn't kill the guy, but—" He stopped, seeing Jim's granite-jawed face and icy stare. "Okay, okay. Forget I said it."

 _Not likely…but I_ _may_ _forgive you…in time…._

"Anything with prints?" Denny Rice spoke up hastily, trying to smooth things over.

Jim raked Krupicka with one last laser-sharp glare before replying. "Jared Mentken's are on it, and some others, as yet not identified. Blair's are not."

"Too bad we can't go around and fingerprint everyone in the science department," Rice chuckled. "Of course, there's nothing that says it was someone from Archaeology, or Anthropology."

"We need to narrow it down more," Ellison agreed. "I'm hoping Suzanne's car search will help with that."

##########

Jim ate lunch at his desk, taking up Brown on his offer to fetch in deli sandwiches for them both. He had still heard nothing from Suzanne Tamaki, nor had he heard anything from Rafe or Blair. That was reassuring in one way, and disquieting in another.

The hums and ending beep of the fax machine announced the arrival of the awaited list from Suzanne. He began going over the pages carefully – and one name in particular jumped out at him: Terrance Ivarson, professor of archaeology. Drove a late-model dark blue import: an Opel Vectra with a diesel engine.

He was reaching for the telephone when it rang. "Ellison!"

" _Jim, it's Rafe. We're heading out right now; everything's gone okay."_

The Sentinel relaxed slightly. "Let me talk to Sandburg for a minute. I've got a name I want to run by him."

" _Yeah?"_ came Blair's voice, a moment later.

"Chief, do you know an archaeology professor named Terrance Ivarson?"

" _Yeah, sure. He's a fairly prominent guy on faculty here. One of Jared Mentken's superiors, at least nominally."_ Sandburg hesitated a moment, then asked: _"What kind of a car does he drive?"_

"Two-year-old dark blue Opel sports model…diesel."

" _Oh jeez…."_

"Did you happen to see him around today?" Ellison inquired, hoping desperately that the answer would be 'no.'

" _No."_ Blair sighed. _"Jim – something I didn't think about mentioning until right now: my office door – when it's unlocked with a key from the outside, it_ _stays_ _unlocked, unless you manually lock it again. So if Jared was let in by the janitor and didn't think to relock it – anyone could have walked right in. Wouldn't have had to jimmy the lock, ask anyone to let him in – nothing. And of course no one would question Professor Ivarson's presence in Hargrove."_

"It all fits," Jim said. "Archaeology, the figurine….Ivarson would have gone on lots of digs; artifacts a perfect method of concealing drugs. Mentken must have come to suspect something – we may never know what tipped him – and when he tried to contact you, Ivarson found out about it, and killed him. Followed him over to Hargrove, and was able to get in through that unlocked door. But Mentken had hidden the figurine, and Ivarson didn't have time to look for it. I'm going to let Krupicka and Rice know about the car, and let them take the next step in questioning Ivarson; it's not really our case, after all." He smiled tightly. "Even if we're the ones who figured it out. THEY can have the fun of proving it."

" _Okay…we're on our way to the parking lot now. I'm going to take my own car and follow Rafe in."_

"Chief, wouldn't it be a better idea to ride with Rafe?" Jim felt uneasiness prickling at him again.

" _Maybe, but I want my car, Jim!"_ Sandburg's voice softened. _"I'll be okay. Stop worrying so much!"_

"Can't help it; it's part of the job description."

"Detective's job description?"

"No, Chief…Sentinel. All right, I'll see you in a little while."

Jim was just starting to put down the phone receiver when a sudden noise over the wire made him pull back and press it tightly against his ear.

A gunshot – and then another. And then Rafe's voice, from a distance:

"Jesus, get down…BLAIR!"

Followed by the sharp clatter of the cell phone hitting the pavement…and another gunshot.

"SANDBURG!" Ellison's cry echoed through the Major Crimes bullpen. He pressed the phone receiver against his head and strained his hearing to the max, trying to decipher what was going on in the parking lot at Rainier…and he heard a moan of pain in Blair's familiar voice. "Sandburg…." This time it was a despairing whisper. "Blair…." Concentrating past the danger point, the Sentinel slid helplessly into a zone, still trying to focus on his partner's distant voice.

##########

"Jim…Jim. Jim. JIM! Come on, Ellison, snap out of it!"

A sharp, insistent voice, accompanied by an equally sharp shaking of his arm, brought the detective back to full awareness. Ellison blinked, and found himself staring into Simon Banks' worried dark eyes.

"Simon?" Instinctively wary of discovery, Jim glanced around, and found they were alone in the bullpen. Recollection swept over him, and with it, panic. "Blair – what happened to Blair?"

"I'm not sure yet." Banks gripped his arm tightly. "I sent Brown over to Rainier to find out."

"The phone—" Jim cast around for the receiver; it had been replaced, terminating the call. "The line was open, Simon; I heard gunshots, and I think Blair was hit! I heard Rafe yell at him….I…zoned?" he finished, staring at his captain with horror-stricken blue eyes. "How long was I out?"

"About five minutes; Henri was the only one in here, and I got him on his way almost as soon as it happened. I've been trying to wake you up ever since!"

"My God, I've got to get to him…." Ellison jerked his arm free of Simon's grasp and headed for the door at a run.

"I'll drive." Banks might ride a desk these days, but he could move fast when necessary, and his longer stride enabled him to pass Jim before the younger man reached the elevator.

##########

There had been too many of these frantic drives through the streets of Cascade, Jim thought as they tore across town in Simon's car, siren screaming and warning lights flashing their strobe-effects to clear the way. Too many times he'd run to get to Blair's side, to save him, to defend him…when was it going to be the one time he'd be too late? This time? _Some Blessed Protector I am!_ He clenched his fists tightly on his thighs, wishing that he was behind the wheel instead of Simon. Surely _he_ could have gotten them there more quickly!

Banks was manning the police radio as well as driving; he had batted Jim's hand away when the Sentinel made an attempt to grab it. He was in contact with Henri Brown, who was perhaps six minutes ahead of them…but so far, they had heard nothing from Rafe…or Sandburg.

Detectives Rice and Krupicka, from Homicide, had been alerted that something was going down with their shared case, and were also on their way to Rainier. With one isolated part of his mind, Jim was grimly amused when he heard Czerny and Hightower responding, as well _. Rally the troops, man your battle stations; the gang's all here!_

" _Captain Banks—"_ A new voice cut through the static-y crackle of the radio. _"This is Dispatch; I'm patching Detective Rafe through to you."_

Ellison stiffened in his seat, as Banks acknowledged and waited for the connection.

" _Captain? It's Rafe."_ The detective sounded out of breath, but calm. _"Suspect is in custody."_

"Rafe, what's going on?" Simon barked. "What happened?"

" _Somebody started taking potshots at us – at Sandburg and me – in the parking lot,"_ Rafe reported. He paused. _"I shot the bastard, but he's alive,"_ he growled, more fiercely than either Banks or Ellison had ever heard the ordinarily soft-spoken man sound before. "There are ambulances on the way."

"What about Sandburg?" Simon snapped, and Jim held his breath.

" _He was hit, but…but I think he'll be okay. Uh…is Ellison there, Captain?"_

"He's here."

" _Tell him…tell him I tried to keep Blair safe. I really tried. I don't know what else I could have done…."_

Jim let his breath out in a rush of air, and extended his hand for the radio mike. Simon surrendered it and concentrated on his driving, taking a corner on what felt like two wheels.

"Rafe? It's Jim."

" _Jim, I'm so sorry – I tried—"_

"Nothing to be sorry for; there's no way you could have prevented it. Nobody could." It hurt to say the words, but Jim knew they were the truth, no matter how bitter he felt.

" _H-hold on a minute…."_ There were rustling noises, and apparently Rafe's cell phone changed hands.

" _Jim?"_ Blair's voice. Soft – much too soft – and strained, and Jim could _hear_ the pain – but…there. _Blessedly_ there. He heard Simon gasp, beside him.

"I'm here, Chief. Hang on, we'll be there in just a couple of minutes." Ellison could barely force the words out, for the tightness of his throat.

" _Jim…stop freaking. You hear me? I'm okay, so just…stop."_

The detective nearly laughed. _He's lying on the ground with a bullet in him, and he's worrying about_ _me_ _!_ "I'm not freaking, Chief."

" _Don't…lie to me, Ellison. And don't…don't blame Rafe. Wasn't…his fault."_

"I'm not blaming him. Shhh, now. We'll discuss it later. You just rest until I get there."

Slowly, he racked the microphone, and sank back in his seat, covering his eyes with one shaking hand.

"Ellison, you've got one damned fine partner there," Simon muttered. "They don't come any better quality than Sandburg." He cleared his throat. "And don't you ever tell him I said that, either."

##########

Parking Lot G was a maelstrom of whirling red and blue lights, of snarling sirens which abruptly cut off mid-whine, of people shouting and hurrying in various directions.

Simon had managed to get them close, but not close enough. Jim flung open the car door and headed across the asphalt at a fast clip. He had stretched his sight momentarily, and located Henri Brown – and Rafe – and he knew Blair was there too, lying on the pavement. He paid no attention to Simon, who was hurrying in his wake.

"Jim! Over here!" Brown, alerted to their presence, waved wildly.

The next moment the Sentinel was on his knees beside his partner, worried eyes taking in the pallor, the cold perspiration on Blair's forehead, and the bloody wad of cloth pressed against his left side by Detective Rafe – the cloth which, a century ago, it seemed …or was it really just that morning?…had been Rafe's pristine beige jacket.

"Blair…" Jim cradled Sandburg's pale cheek in his hand and leaned close. To his shock, the younger man opened his eyes almost immediately, and endeavored to smile.

"Knew you'd be here….And stop looking like that."

Jim just gazed at him, helplessly.

"It's not…as bad as it…looks. It just nicked my side." Blair's eyes traveled downwards toward the site of the wound, then back up to meet Jim's. "I swear, Jim, I'm okay."

"I'm not sure I believe you, but….Thank God." Ellison squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a moment. His hand moved from Blair's cheek to his forehead, gently pushing back a sweat-dampened curly strand of hair. "Hang on; ambulance is almost here."

Blair smiled faintly. "You're here," he whispered. "I'm glad….It's not so…scary…when you're here."

 _He hardly ever admits to being scared…._ Jim brought up his free hand to clasp Blair's. He gripped it tightly, trying to impart some warmth to the cool fingers.

"Then here I stay, and nothing and nobody will make me leave. You want me with you, you got it, Chief."

The arrival of the paramedics cut off their interchange, but Jim stayed, as he had promised. Nothing the medics implied or suggested convinced either the Sentinel or Guide that Blair might be better off without his hand firmly clasped in Jim's. When they insisted that he was in their way, Ellison merely moved from his position _beside_ his partner to kneel behind him and settle Blair's head on his knees. In the end, the EMT's bowed to the inevitable and allowed him to remain, and to accompany Blair on the ambulance ride to the hospital.

##########

"Hey, Ellison…how's Sandburg?"

Jim, who had been sitting with his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his fists and staring down at the emergency room carpeting, raised his head as the question penetrated his thoughts. He found himself wondering, offhand, just how many times he'd been asked that question over the last few years. ' _How's Sandburg?' 'Jim, is Blair all right?' 'Sandburg okay?' 'Jim, Sandburg's gonna be all right, isn't he? He's gonna make it…right?' 'How's Hairboy doin'?'_ So many times…and so many people who cared about Blair's continued well-being.

He'd managed to keep his promise, and stay with Blair while he'd been examined, although it had taken some doing. When the hospital personnel tried to insist that he leave, Jim had stared at them glacially, and informed them – in his most official tones – that Police Observer Sandburg had been shot _while under police protection,_ and that continued police protection was absolutely vital to his safety. He didn't bother mentioning that Blair's assailant was no threat at the moment. What those officious doctors and nurses didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

Blair, conscious and aware at that point, had nearly given the game away by laughing, but the gratitude in his eyes – and the desperate grip he kept on Jim's hand – told Jim how much it meant to him.

Finally, however, Blair had been anesthetized and wheeled away for a surgeon to repair the damage, and Jim could no longer stay at his side. But the last whispered words the Sentinel breathed in his partner's ear were: "I'll keep watch over you from the waiting room…so see that you behave, Chief!"

He hadn't dared to do that, though. Not for long, anyway. He was afraid of slipping into a zone, with no one there to ground him. Simon hadn't been able to come to the hospital, so Jim was alone. But as long as Blair _thought_ – _believed_ – he was listening…maybe that would be enough reassurance.

"They're patching him up, under anesthesia. Doctor said he'll be as good as new," he said aloud, answering Denny Rice's concerned question. "Well, aside from another scar."

Rice plopped himself into the chair next to Ellison's and heaved a relieved sigh. "I'm glad to hear that. How badly was he hurt?"

"Bullet took a slice out of the muscles on his left side, but didn't hit anything vital on the way past. So…blood loss and trauma shock, mostly." Jim sat up straighter and flexed his shoulders, then leaned back in his seat. "They'll keep him here for a couple of days, pump some blood back into him, all that kind of stuff." He smiled to himself. _And then I can take him home and fuss over him for awhile…a few days…until he feels well enough to fight back!_

"What about the guy Rafe took out – Ivarson?"

Ellison shrugged, not really caring a great deal. "I think he's still in surgery. Prognosis is that he'll survive to face trial."

"Krupicka's over at Rainier with a forensic team, tearing Ivarson's office apart," Rice reported, "looking for evidence of drug trafficking, and connections to Mentken's murder."

Jim nodded, finding it hard to care greatly about _that_ , either. Ivarson would go down for Rafe's and Sandburg's attempted murders, no matter what else came to light. He knew he'd feel differently later; the cop in him would come to the forefront and he'd want to nail Ivarson for everything he'd done, but right now, his main concern was his Guide. As long as Blair needed him, the rest of Cascade could take care of itself for awhile.

##########

"Blair…come on back, now. Wake up, Chief. Time to wake up."

Blair heard the voice apparently coming through several layers of cotton batting. From the way his mouth felt, the cotton batting had been stuffed inside it as well as wrapped around his head and over his ears….

"Unnnh?"

"Attaboy. Step one: open the eyes. Can you do that for me?"

With monumental effort, Blair managed to hoist one eyelid slightly, and immediately closed it again as a bright light assaulted him. "Uhnnn-uhn!"

"Sorry, hang on….There, lights are down. Try it again."

Tentatively, he cracked his eyes open a trifle, then a little wider. "'im?" he mumbled, trying to focus on the slightly blurry figure hovering above him.

"Yep, it's me." Warm fingers closed over his. "How you doing?"

"'irsty…"

"Want a drink of water?"

Blair nodded, then frowned as past experience raised its ugly head. "Wait….W'll I…throw up?"

"Hmmm…good point," his partner said. "Let's start with ice chips instead."

Nothing in Blair's recent memory had ever brought such soothing relief as the spoonfuls of ice chips Jim tilted between his lips. As the cool wetness eased his parched mouth and dry throat, Blair began to feel a little more awake.

"Th'nks. How long…'s I out?"

"Not very. Hour – hour and a quarter, maybe. Surgery didn't take all that long. How're you feeling?"

"Okay…."

"No pain?"

"Uh-uh. Not yet." Blair shifted gingerly. "'S gonna hurt later, isn't it?"

"Probably, but you're on one of those self-medication deals. If it hurts, just push the button. See?" Making sure his partner's eyes were tracking him, Jim indicated the IV setup.

"Jim…?"

"Yeah?"

"Wha' happened to Ivarson?" Moving carefully, Blair reached for the controls of the bed and inched himself to a semi-reclining position.

"You knew Rafe shot him?" Jim pulled a chair close to the bedside, and sat down, replacing his hand on his Guide's wrist. He wasn't sure whether it was for Sandburg's benefit or his own, but he knew that contact was necessary.

"Yeah…." Sandburg sounded tired now, but fairly coherent. "Didn't kill him, though…right?"

"Right. He was still in surgery when I came in here. The Homicide guys'll handle it. Rafe's gonna be on administrative leave because he discharged his firearm, but there's no problem with IA – it was a righteous shoot."

Blair smiled faintly. "I've always thought that term was funny…'righteous shoot.'" He blinked, sleepily. "Jim…you aren't upset with Rafe, are you? I told you, it wasn't his fault."

"No, Chief, I'm not upset with him. I'm damned grateful to him. He did everything he possibly could to protect you…and he saved your life." Jim tightened his hold on Blair's wrist. "I owe him for that…big time."

There was a long silence – so long that Ellison thought his partner had drifted back to sleep. But finally Sandburg spoke again.

"I wish Jared Mentken hadn't looked so much like me," he murmured.

Jim frowned. "Well, I wish it too; it spooked the hell outta me. But why do you wish it?"

"If he hadn't…it would've made it easier to focus on his murder, rather than thinking it was someone out to get me. I…distracted…you."

"Hey—" Jim ran his thumb across the back of Blair's hand in a gesture of comfort. "It wasn't a mistake. Someone was out to get you…remember? That's why you're lying here in this bed: Terrance Ivarson shot you, Chief!"

"Well…yeah. But he wasn't, earlier." Blair wrinkled his forehead in a frown, trying to work it through in his medication-fogged mind. "But…killing Jared with my dagger…in my office…implicated me, didn't it? Did he do that…on purpose?"

"I suspect, Chief, that Ivarson just grabbed the nearest weapon to hand when he killed Mentken. When you got involved in the investigation, he had to try and eliminate you…but that'll all come to light later, when he's able to be questioned." He squeezed his partner's hand gently. "You need to rest, buddy. Don't worry about this any more – at least not right now."

"Don't want to sleep," Blair whispered. "Dreams…see Jared with the dagger in his back – looks like me…" Jim heard his heartbeat speed up, and his breathing quicken…and then felt his Guide force everything down, trying to retreat. "I'm sorry, Jim. You don't need this. I'll be all right. You should go home….get some rest…."

"Think you could sleep okay if I stayed here with you, at least for awhile?"

Blair's gaze was a combination of gratitude and embarrassment. Gratitude won, by the slightest edge. "Yeah…probably…but—"

"I'll stay until I'm tired enough to go home, how's that?" Ellison quirked a brief smile. "If I can grab a sandwich out of the vending machine first."

Guilt overlaid the gratitude now. "You didn't have anything to eat?….But it's late, isn't it? Go, go on. I'll be fine." Blair tried to shoo him away, waving one languid hand.

Jim stood up. "Ten minutes," he promised. "Tops. You shouldn't be sound enough asleep in ten minutes to start with the nightmares, so just go ahead and try to fall asleep while I'm gone."

"Okay – ten minutes." Blair smiled drowsily, and closed his eyes.

##########

Three days later, a small celebration was held in the third-floor loft apartment at 852 Prospect.

Jim had brought Blair home that morning, and carried out his intentions to coddle and fuss over his convalescing roommate, with a vengeance. The grad student was gently but firmly escorted to his room and settled in bed, and Jim made it clear that he was to stay there unless it was absolutely necessary that he get up!

"If you need anything, or I can do something for you, just say so. You don't even have to yell, remember? I'll hear you!" He hovered in the doorway, worry showing clearly in his eyes.

Blair, for once in the history of their partnership, didn't protest. He'd discovered that a gash along his side made it almost impossible to _sit_ _up_ comfortably; the only way he could relax was to lie almost flat. _Standing_ was better than trying to sit; he could tolerate sitting for any length of time only by downing the high-powered prescription pain medications…which he hated. The ride home – even though Jim had borrowed Simon's luxurious sedan, rather than using the pickup – had been torturous. He had arrived at the loft so miserable that he actually found himself wondering if he should have stayed in the hospital for another day or two.

But a long, peaceful nap and an inordinate amount of Sentinel-pampering had gone a considerable way towards improving Blair's gloomy outlook. Jim had gently bullied him into taking half-doses of the despised pain meds when he woke up, which took the edge off his discomfort without making him either nauseous or too drowsy to be coherent. And the expectation of having friends drop in to welcome him home was cheering.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Jim asked, for at least the third time in ten minutes, as they waited for their guests to arrive. "If it's going to be too much for you, we can cancel—"

"Jim…it'll be fine. I promise, I'll take it easy. I'll either stand up, or I'll stay right here, flat on my back – although where everyone is going to sit, with me taking up the whole couch, is going to be a problem."

"They'll sit on the kitchen chairs and the loveseat or they'll stand," Ellison retorted. "Because damned if you're going to try and sit up, Chief!"

"Hey, I'm not arguing. But remember, I'm okay on my feet; that doesn't hurt much. It's the transition part that's hard!" Moving carefully, Blair started to make that transitional move, and hissed with pain.

"What are you DOING?" Ellison snapped. "You just said you'd stay on the couch!"

"I didn't want to greet people that way," Blair tried to explain, but Jim shook his head and held his roommate down.

"Sandburg, they all know you're hurt. You don't have to pretend you're 100%!"

"Okay, okay…." Blair subsided with ill-concealed irritation. Defiantly, he stacked pillows behind his head, moving into a semi-reclining position, and stared at Jim, challenging him to say anything.

The Sentinel just shrugged. "You're the one who'll be paying for it," was his only comment.

Before they could carry the argument further, sounds of footsteps and a brisk knocking on the door announced the arrival of guests, and Jim hastened to let them in.

Rafe and Henri Brown were the first to appear, followed almost immediately by Rhonda, and close behind her were Denny Rice and Charlie Krupicka. Krupica bore a large, ornate fruit basket which he set on the coffee table with a flourish, in front of Blair.

Blair's delighted smile lit up his face, and went a long way to dispelling the lines of pain the past few days had etched there. "That looks so good! Thanks! That's really nice of you guys!"

Rafe somewhat bashfully presented a rectangular package wrapped in tissue paper. "Thought you might – you'd need to – well, anyway…here."

"You weren't supposed to bring presents…Jim, they weren't supposed to bring presents!" Blair protested, flushed and laughing. "What is this?"

"Open it and see, Chief," Ellison suggested, and at a look from his partner, added, "No, I haven't any idea what it is."

It turned out to be a long-sleeved teal-blue shirt. Blair blinked at it, tilting his head in some confusion. "It's beautiful, but…why?"

"The one you were wearing got ruined," Rafe mumbled, and Sandburg's eyes widened as he realized what the detective was referring to.

"Rafe…man, you didn't have to…but this is really nice! It's much nicer than the one that got shot up! Thanks, man, I appreciate this a lot!"

Jim came to lean over the back of the sofa and admire the shirt. "Nice, Chief. Any time you want to loan it out—"

His Guide hastily put the cover back on the box. "Stay away from my shirt, Jim. It's MINE! Besides, I'm sure the sleeves are too short for you."

Another knock on the door announced Simon and Joel Taggart, who by arrangement carried boxes of pizza and barbecued chicken. As Henri and Rhonda quickly set out the food, and Jim got out an assortment of drinks, the two police captains paid their respects to their couch-confined observer, who was quick to display his new shirt, and offer to share the contents of the fruit basket.

Krupicka and Rice were feeling slightly out of place in this Major Crimes love-fest, but before they could become uncomfortable, they were hustled into the midst of the group and ordered to fill their plates. Another tap on the door signaled the arrival of Suzanne Tamaki, who had brought a large container of chocolate-frosted cupcakes.

Once everyone was seated – Blair had drawn up his feet to make room for at least one other person on the long couch, and Jim ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor near his partner's head – and had made considerable inroads in the food, Simon cleared his throat authoritatively.

"I believe that our brothers from Homicide have some information to report, regarding the Mentken case," he said, and raised an eyebrow in Denny Rice's direction. "Gentlemen?"

"Terrance Ivarson has confessed to the killing of Jared Mentken," Rice announced triumphantly, and was rewarded with a jumble of 'All right!' 'Good!' 'That's great!' from the others. "He insists that it wasn't premeditated – says he followed Mentken to Sandburg's office to try and convince him to keep his mouth shut – and to retrieve that little statue, which apparently Mentken had been sent by mistake."

"Well…" Henri Brown drawled, "I can maybe believe that…just maybe."

"I can," Sandburg put in. "If he'd intended on killing him when he went there, he would have had something else to use than my dagger. Say – do I get my dagger back?"

"If you want it," Krupicka nodded. "Eventually, anyway."

Blair subsided, evidently thinking it over.

"Anyway…" Rice resumed, "So he's going for a spur-of-the-moment thing, with Mentken."

"What about trying to run Sandburg down with his car?" Jim asked. "He can't claim that wasn't planned…"

"Well, he's trying," Denny responded, shaking his head in patent disbelief. "He says he saw Sandburg crossing the parking lot and thought he could scare him off."

"He succeeded in the 'scare' part," Blair grumbled, shifting gingerly. "No, I'm all right," he added in a whisper, as Jim immediately gave him a concerned look.

"That is so lame!" Henri expostulated. "How does he think he's gonna get away with it?"

"Good attorney," Joel said, the voice of long experience.

"Well, he CAN'T slide out of the attempted murder," Rafe said positively. "Of both Hairboy and me. That was premeditated, and no one will believe otherwise."

"True, but he'll probably plead temporary insanity or something," Krupicka rumbled. "But no matter; he'll be in the slammer for a long time. Start with the drug smuggling and go from there, just add 'em all up."

"Hopefully he'll get a judge who believes in long sentences and no parole," Rhonda commented.

Loud, emphatic cheers greeted this comment. As they died away, Jim cocked his head just slightly, and Blair gave him a quick, questioning glance. Before the Sentinel could reply to the unasked question, a soft knock was heard on the loft door.

"Expecting someone else, Jim?" Simon inquired, as Jim got to his feet to answer the summons.

"Nope, everyone's already here." Cautious as always, Ellison was automatically scanning outside the door…and was slightly alarmed when he scented gun oil. After a second's hesitation, he opened the door – and relaxed.

Standing in the hallway and looking more than slightly uneasy, were Officers Keith Hightower and Brad Czerny.

"Come in." Jim swung the door wider and ushered the two uniformed patrolmen into the spacious loft apartment.

Their eyes widened as they took in the other occupants – two captains, and the most prominent detectives from Major Crimes, two of the most eminent detectives from Homicide, the head of security at Rainier University…and in the center of them all, a pale and weary-looking police observer lying on the long sofa.

"Detective Ellison, we didn't mean to interrupt – didn't realize you were entertaining…." Keith Hightower hesitated. "We'd heard that Mr. Sandburg was released from the hospital, and we just wanted to tell him we were glad he was okay."

"Guys – come on in," Blair invited, waving one hand in welcome. "The more the merrier…sit down, have some pizza."

"N-no, we can't stay; we're on duty," Officer Czerny said. He looked around at the group, flushing with embarrassment. But he advanced to stand by the couch, gazing down at Blair, his face crimson. "Mr. Sandburg—"

"Just Blair, please."

"Um…okay, Blair…I just wanted to apologize again, for the way I treated you, when we first found Professor Mentken's body in your office – and to say that when that nutball Ivarson shot you, I felt real bad….And I'm really glad that you're okay."

"Not half as glad as I am," Blair grinned. "Hey, it's okay, the office thing. You were just doing your job, and I suppose I did look like the most obvious suspect. Thanks for stopping by; this is nice of you."

Now Hightower joined his partner, standing next to the sofa and reaching down to pat Sandburg's shoulder, carefully. "You get better fast, okay? I know you're missed, down at the station. And at Rainier, too." He glanced around at the silently watching detectives, self-consciously. "We'll get outta your hair now – bye."

Trying to conceal his grin, Jim escorted them to the door and closed it behind them, then turned to the others and held a finger to his lips, indicating _quiet_. When he heard the elevator doors slide shut on the two patrolmen, he removed the cautionary finger, and burst into laughter…in which he was immediately joined by everyone else in the room. Blair winced and clutched a pillow against himself, but laughed with the rest. Maybe Czerny and Hightower weren't so bad after all.

When the whoops of hilarity had finally died away, Simon rose to his feet.

"People, I know we're all happy to have Blair home and recovering, but I think we're close to overstaying our welcome. Shall we call it a day?"

Taking the hint, the others – except Sandburg – got up too, and began milling around, cleaning up the pizza boxes, the paper plates, the beer bottles, the wine and iced tea glasses…and then bidding the roommates goodbye. In less than ten minutes, the loft was empty, save for Jim and Blair.

"Hey, partner – bedtime. Take your pills, brush your teeth, and call it good." Jim squatted beside the couch and gently squeezed his Guide's arm.

"I feel like all I've done since I got home is sleep," Blair complained – and then added, reluctantly, "but going back to bed sounds like a really good idea….I didn't think I'd be so tired. It's kinda embarrassing.

Jim neither argued nor agreed. He just slid an arm behind Blair's shoulders and eased him into a sitting position; then, before it could hurt too much, lifted him to his feet, bracing him with one arm and letting Blair grip the other.

"Chief, I'm so damned glad to have you home and basically in one piece, I don't think I'd complain if you stayed in bed all next week," the Sentinel said softly.

Blair chuckled quietly. "Yeah, you would, Jim. I'd say you'd give it two days, tops, before you were yelling at me to get my butt out of bed. But thanks for the thought, just the same." Tiredly, he let his head tilt onto Ellison's shoulder, and felt Jim's arms tighten, keeping him upright. "Thanks…so much. For taking care of me…for everything."

"You don't owe me any thanks, Blair. We've gone way past owing thanks to each other. I could thank you endlessly for what you've done for me – and I guess it goes both ways. I think we can call it square, for now, don't you?"

"Square," Sandburg echoed, and nodded sleepily.

"Come on," Jim urged him gently towards the bathroom. "Let's get you settled for the night."

##########

The Sentinel silently patrolled his perimeters before retiring to bed – doors locked, windows locked, burners off – realizing with relief that the nagging sense of _wrongness_ he'd carried inside for the past few days was gone. Gone, because his Guide was home; home where he belonged, his breathing steady and quiet in sleep, his heartbeat strong and even, at rest.

And pushed to the background of his subconscious was the disquiet he'd felt ever since seeing Jared Mentken's body and realizing how much like Blair the archaeology professor looked _._ It so easily could have been Blair, lying on that office floor. _If you see your doppelgänger, you'll die…._

 _No! No._ Wasn't possible and wouldn't happen. Blair was safe. And Jim would keep him that way – or die trying.

The End


End file.
